Warehouse on Greensburg Avenue
by Steffi Star
Summary: Blaine has a secret. But the stars look so beautiful, like someone he knows. Trigger alert for self harm. Klaine.


A/N: Got nothing to say.

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.

I stroked the cold stone of the Warehouse on Greensburg Avenue. No one knew of my sanctuary, even the homeless stayed away from its eeriness. I looked to the nonexistent roof. A fire was started here a hundred years ago when Lima was still young. It did burn down completely but the roof was gone leaving scared walls behind.

I loved it. Gave me peace of mind. I'm not sure why, but then I'm never sure of anything. Always weighing the options, always indecisive, never able to make a firm decision. The Warehouse was a blade factory. Made blades for every thing. Machetes, machines, guns, kitchens, razors, everything.

I stumbled across this place on a cold winter night. I remember looking at this place and feeling a strange comfort I had not felt before. Now it felt like an old friend that I can tell anything too. I continued walking to a back room where I kept some blades.

A back room that could have been used for anything. Lounge room, storage room, sleeping room, anything. Now it had a couch that had been saved in the fire, and my collection of shaving razors. The room had a mirror wall that I could see my figure in. My curly brown hair fell over my hazel eyes. I pulled back my jacket sleeve to reveal my scared arms. I frowned into the mirror. My safe haven, forever hidden to the world, never to be found.

A took a razor from my collection. An old barber razor I held out my arms and stared into the mirror. The figure looking back bore no emotion. I slowly brought the blade across my arm making a small long cut across, my arm. The figure finally bore an emotion. Pain, anger, rage, hurt. Why?

Why?

Why?

Why?

WHY?

WHY?

Why what? Why do I do this? Why does it bring me happiness? I don't know. I may never know. The Crimson Liquid flowed from my cut. I calmly shut the barber's razor and put in back with my collection. I opened a drawer in a small night stand by the couch. I kept various medical supplies. Never know if a cut will be too deep. I grabbed a bandage and eased it around my cut. I took and Ace Bandage and wrapped it around for pressure.

I turned and opened the small wooden door. I carefully locked it behind me. I looked back up at the missing roof. I saw the stars. God, the stars are beautiful. The constellations made clearer without city lights. The stars were beacons. Beacons of hope, of light, of happiness, and of calling. Beacons calling me.

The first time I was here I cut. It was so easy. It was small so I didn't bring bandages. But that is not what I remember most. I remember the stars.

The stars were brightest that night.

The stars made me happy.

The stars shown into me and shaped me.

The stars gave me purpose again.

The stars erased my suicidal thoughts, though not even the stars could erase my depression.

But this time the stars were different to me. They reminded me of someone. Yes someone I know. I usually looked to the stars and moved on but this time I stayed and stared. Trying to figure out who the stars looked like. The stars were pale and beautiful. So full of light but burning inside, liking burning passion inside a soul. I tried to think of someone like this.

I thought more. The stars were pale and beautiful. They sang to me, a beacon of hope, of… courage. The stars sang a beautiful song. A song of hurt, of hope, of courage, of light, of beauty.

Kurt, the stars were like Kurt. Tears rolled down my face. The stars passed judgment on my I could feel it. Like judgment Kurt would pass if he knew. I made a pact that night. To myself, to the stars, to Kurt, to never cut again. I ran home eager to go back the next night and throw away my blades and bandages. Next time I would only admire the stars.

A/N: I hope you like it. This plot bunny has been breeding for a while but I had no idea had to write it so I wrote it like That Night on Palmer Street. Fast but I think it turned out well, much like That Night on Palmer Street. Thank-you for reading and as always:

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